


Rule of Threes

by Strawberry_Sweetheart



Series: Tumblr Drabble [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: And thats on being a procrastinating writer, Billy being smitten, Fluff, M/M, Steve being cute, Y’all ever have weird quirks?, and then y’all wont have to hear from me again for like months ;), but I’m letting Steve borrow it for fanfic purposes, four of my shitty drabbles in a row, i randomly decided to post all my tumblr Drabbles on here at the same time, im almost done i swear, rip everybody scrolling the harringrove tag rn and just getting like, this is one of mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Sweetheart/pseuds/Strawberry_Sweetheart
Summary: Billy is playing some game in his phone that beeps and chimes as he collects points. His eyes are glued to the colorful blocks in the screen with an intent focus that furrows his brows in the middle and Steve feels a bit ignored. He’s been wanting to spend the day with Billy, and he’s not above admitting he’s feeling a little hurt by the lack of attention.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Tumblr Drabble [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703482
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Rule of Threes

Steve has a habit he calls his ‘Habit of Threes’. 

It’s something he’s done since he was a kid, some game he must have played by himself that he never grew out of. 

Sometimes when he walks down the street he’ll count the lines as he goes. He counts, “one... two... three...” and steps on the forth. He does it again and again until it’s too obvious to someone that he’s walking in a pattern. He doesn’t like their judging looks. So when someone sends him a questioning stare he just shoots them a charming smile and forces himself to walk normal like stepping on the lines out of pattern isn’t comfortable. 

When he’s anxious he’ll rub his thumb and index finger together three times, then press the nail if his index into the flesh of him palm three times. The cycle repeats. It helps him focus, helps him breath, if he’s following a pattern. It distracts his mind from whatever is making his anxious. 

One, two, three, like the steps of a dance. 

One, two, three, to a rhythm in his head.

He does this until it’s his turn to present in class. He does his threes and walks to the front of the classroom with a swagger to his step and carefree confidence like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his chest.

Steve drinks in threes. He swallows three times and lowers his glass or bottle, then drinks three more. If his drink has ice he’ll take a cube in his mouth and chew three times before letting it melt in his tongue. This one he can explain, it was added to his habit of threes when his mom would scold him for drinking to fast, said that he’d drown if he didn’t slow down. 

One, two, three, lower.

One, two, three, more.

Until his glass is empty, until his mouth is no longer parched. 

Billy is playing some game in his phone that beeps and chimes as he collects points. His eyes are glued to the colorful blocks in the screen with an intent focus that furrows his brows in the middle and Steve feels a bit ignored. He’s been wanting to spend the day with Billy, and he’s not above admitting he’s feeling a little hurt by the lack of attention. 

He tugs at Billy’s shirt sleeve — one, two, three — and Billy hums inquisitively.

“Attention,” is all Steve has to say to get Billy to pause his game with an amused smile showing off his pearly whites. 

“I’m sorry, have I been ignoring you, pretty boy?” 

“Mmhmm,” he pouts in an exaggerated manner and slumps against him with his full weight, “I’m being neglected, look at me, I’m wilting. I need to cuddle.” Billy’s laugh makes him feel light and warm.

“I can do that, but it’s gonna cost you.” 

“How much,” Steve’s asks suspiciously, squints up at him, ready to barter. 

“Kiss.” Billy taps his lips with a sly look on his face.

Steve cups his jaw and kisses Billy’s freckled cheek — one.

He lays his puckered lips between his brows at the forming wrinkle that he can’t wait to see deepen as they age together — two. 

And then pecks the tip of Billy’s pink tinted stubby nose — three. 

One, two, three — lips. 

Billy always tastes like cherry cola and blue jolly ranchers.

Like pink starbursts and sour patch gummies. 

And Steve’s always had a sweet tooth.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is @billy-baby


End file.
